Joining The Strike Witches To Get Chicks Was A Bad Idea
by Razzi Zadhna
Summary: Aston, one of the few male witches and super-effeminate-looking pervy crossdresser, decides to see if he can disguise his gender well enough to join the Strike Witches..and gets caught soon after joining the 501st. Yet through a technicality, he gets to stay...and immediately resumes perving on his female coworkers. Then his sister, Holly, joins..oh dear. A pure comedy fic. OCs.
1. Chapter 1

This is an idea I had rolling around my head. I like traps and SW so it seemed like the perfect idea. Plus, loser perv protags are always funny.

However, I'm not too certain on THIS chapter. I didn't want to go through several boring chapters of him joining and trying to not get caught, and I thought getting to the good part would be better. But who knows? Maybe I'll rewrite this. We should be getting into the comedy soon anyway.

Also this will probably get ecchi and /ss/ as hell at times. I can't help it, I like that kind of thing.

Chapter 1: This Is A...Situation.

My name is Aston Princeton. I am 13 years old, and one of the few male witches in existence.

My 13-year-old sister, Holly, had just joined the Strike Witches. I had quickly joined after her. Oh? Men can't become Strike Witches, you say? Well, let me tell you that I was so girly and effeminate-looking, with luscious and long blond hair and red eyes, that I was able to sneak past and get in. I thought I was hot stuff, let me tell you that. Literally surrounded by women who all thought I was a woman. All I had to do was uphold the secret, and my voyeuristic desires were to be fufilled every day.

Well, right now I was surrounded by women, but not in the way I wanted.

The entire 501st Joint Fighter Wing was standing in front of me. All of them had looks of either disgust, confusion, anger, or disbelief.

One in particular, however, Minna-Dietlinde Wilcke, looked like she wanted to murder me, her face scrunched up into grimace of both disgust and rage.

The fact that I was wearing women's clothing probably had something to do with that. I was wearing the incredibly high-cut uniform/suit of many Strike Witches, flared at the bottom to expose the white panties I was wearing. Unfortunately for me, my "little friend" was currently very happy to be inside women's underwear.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Astra Princeton." Minna angrily said to me, going incredibly slow, as if her rage was making it hard to speak. "..or should I say, _Aston_ Princeton? You've forged a fake identity for yourself, joined the Strike Witches despite being male, had a very expensive experimental jet striker made for you, _and_ have been caught peeping on your female coworkers."

"...Shit." It was about the only thing I could say. About a gallon of sweat was pouring onto my face every minute. I just stared down onto the ground, not wanting to look in the eyes of anyone else. It had been less than _a week_ since I had joined the Strike Witches, and I had already been caught.

"Look at me when I'm speaking!" Minna yelled. Her presence was so overwhelming that I immediately did as told, even though I didn't want to.

"I-I...ye-yes ma-mam..." I could barely speak. Every word was just jumbled up on the way and came out a mess. In my mind, I saw my life flashing before my eyes. That cold feeling, of when you get caught and your blood turns into ice, washed over me, making me feel like I was in the middle of a blizzard.

"As I said, if you have any ways of saving your ass right now, you better start talking."

"Yes..." I took a massive gulp and tried to clear my throat. In my head I tried out as many different excuses as possible, but they all were bullshit. My heart was quickly sinking into a dark abyss as the realization that nothing I could say would get me off scot-free would work. But I had to try something... "Ms...Wilcke...I-I may not be a girl, but...I still can use a Striker Unit!"

Her eyes narrowed. The others behind her simply glanced at her. "Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that the Strike Witches are a female-only force."

"But...why...I mean, if I can use the units, why can't I be a Strike Witch!?" Even I thought I was sounding ridiculous, but I had to try _something_. And besides, if I could stick my legs into one of those things, summon a familiar, and fly, then why couldn't I be a Strike Witch?! I mean, I did join to peep on chicks, but I was a half-decent fighter...sort of.

"Because the rules say so." It wasn't Minna this time, but another girl next to her: Mio Sakamoto. I was honestly terrified of this woman even when I had been decieving everyone. She brandished her sword; it was all that was needed to make me recoil and cover my head in fear. "It may be unfair, but when you male witches comprise roughly .05% of all witches worldwide..."

Minna walked over to me. Her imposing form was enough to make me start to walk backwards in fear, but she simply glared at me and I stayed rooted to where I was. When she was less than a foot from me, she thrust her arm out and grabbed my uniform, pulling me close to her face. Less than 3 hours ago, I would have found that to be a dream come true, but now I wanted to piss my pants...not that I was wearing pants in the first place.

"_Aston_ Princeton," She put intense emphasis on my real and male name. "Stay here for now. I'm going to be calling up the Britannian Air Forces soon, and you can look to be discharged within a day. Pack up your things by tomorrow, and if you touch one of us for even a second you can look to be court-martialed for indecent behavior." She let go of me. It was too much. I just collapsed onto my knees and shivered. Tears were this close to leaking from my eyes.

"O-okay..." My voice was cracking as I choked out the words. She walked past my sobbing wreck of a human being. Mio soon followed after her, but not before saying "Keep an eye on _him_. If _he_ does anything funny, restrain him if you must."

/

I spent the next hour on a couch. I couldn't get off of it. The two girls sitting next to me, Gertrud Barkhorn and Erica Hartmann, were making sure of that. The others in the 501st were whiling away their time in the main room of the base as well. I said nothing. In fact, I mostly just sat as still as possible and stared at the floor in shame.

Eventually, however, my fellow Britannian, Lynette Bishop, said something. "It's a little awkward when you never speak." Her boobs were honestly gigantic...I sort of liked her clumsy personality.

I said nothing at first, but eventually cracked out a scared meep. "I thought I could get away with it..." My beautiful plan was in ruins. Had I just bitten off more than I could chew?"

"Get away with _what_?" Gertrud spat at me, glancing at me with disgust. "Crossdressing and entering the Strike Witches? What kind of sick bastard are you?! Man, back when I thought you were a girl, you were actually kind of sweet. But now you're just a complete sicko!" She slammed her fist down onto my head, the impact nearly throwing me off of the couch. My head was burning and throbbing with such an intense and pounding pain I wanted to cry, but I forced myself not to. She was honestly pretty cool, and I had a thing for older women. But her rage was just indescribable. Every conversation with her felt like you were maneuvering through a minefield.

"OW, dammit! Augh...yeah that was my plan, I'll admit. I'm just a sick bastard like that." No use denying it at this point.

"Well go be a sicko somewhere else, then! It's even worse that you're some baby-faced barely-13 little shit!"

I looked at all the girls around me. Lynette was awkwardly drinking tea, Eila Juutilainen was shaking her head in disgust, Sanya V. Litvyak was copying her, Yoshika Miyafuji was giving me a dirty look, Francesca Lucchini was laughing at my plight along with her friend Charlotte E. Yeager (god I wanted to stuff my face in those boobs, dammit!), and Perrine H. Clostermann looked like she wanted to strangle me to death.

"You know," It was that boisterous Hartmann this time. I kinda liked her, I guess. "I do have to admire such a brazen plan. It's never happened before, has it?"

"Not that I know of." Eila responded to her, crossing her arms over her light blue uniform. At first I had thought she was a person to look up to, but she always spent time with that Sanya chick..."But that's mainly because most male witches wouldn't be girly enough to sneak past the registration." She glanced one eye at me. Actually, they all glanced at me. I looked more like a girl than _they_ did, in all honesty. "Is that seriously how you look like normally?"

"Yes..." I mumbled quietly.

"Sheesh, you look more like a girl than most women."

"That's why I thought I could get away with it." I furrowed my eyebrows in disappointment at my own failures.

"Well, you clearly see just what being an indecent scumbag gets you." Now it was Perrine's turn to make me feel like shit. God, her uppity voice was enough to make me want to strangle her. "I can't believe that a man is currently in my vicinity..."

"Are you all just gonna take turns wailing on me?" I grimaced from the verbal beatdown I was getting. Jesus, did you sexy gals all have to take turns wailing on me? Even my lewd dreams were never this bad.

Just then, Minna came into the room, but she seemed...rather distraught. She walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm discharged, aren't I?" I asked her, expecting that to be the answer.

"In actuality, no." 

The atmosphere in the room completely changed. Everyone stared at Minna in utter confusion.

She cleared her throat, looking like she _really_ didn't want to say what she was about to say. "It turns out that despite it being the unwritten law worldwide, there..." She took a deep breath. "is no actual written law banning male witches can become Strike Witches if they can fly a striker unit. As Aston here already _has_ a jet striker made for him, if he can fly it...then he can become a Strike Witch. Male witches are so rare, however, that not one of them has ever actually joined."

At that moment, I, Aston Princeton, had a shot of becoming an actual Strike Witch. Well, if I could actually fly my jet striker. Not that anyone could tell I was a guy. But my celebrations were cut short when someone else walked into the room. A young girl with long and luscious black hair with one blond streak, and red eyes. She was petite, yet walked with a confident stride.

"Hello, I'm-" She then saw me. "Big Bro!? What the hell are you doing here?!"

My little sister, Holly, had apparently been transferred into the 501st.

God _dammit_. Now my voyeuristic plans were gonna get derailed. I was never going to catch a break, was I?

Shit, I didn't even know how to fly a damn striker in the first place!


	2. Chapter 2: All This Goddamn Drama

Fun fact: The original title of this fic (and what I still call it in my notes/documents) is "I Joined The Strike Witches To Get Chicks But All I Got Was Getting Yelled At By This Old Bitch With An Eyepatch". But that was too long for ...so yeah.

Next chapter!

/

Chapter 2: All This Goddamn Drama

Despite my lucky break, I didn't get off easily. Minna sentenced me to a week in my room for the "indecent conduct" I had done earlier. After that I had one week to train with the Jet Striker, and then I was to test it out fully. Failure meant getting sent back to Britannia and probably letting everyone know I was a giant pervert. Success meant that I was one of the first male witches in existence.

Being stuck in my room was hell. I couldn't leave for even the slightest thing without a chaperone. Even if I wanted to take a piss, I had to knock on the door, pray another one of the 501st was around, and ask them to let me go to the bathroom, at which point they would escort me like a little kid there. And they always made fun of me and treated me like a fucking baby when they did it. I mean, it was actually kinda hot to get doted on by these chicks but it was also mortifying. I couldn't eat dinner with anyone, and I couldn't even use the bath except at 20:00'o'clock, under the careful eyes of Minna, who always sneered at me as I silently scrubbed myself off in the expansive place.

I was pretty sure that Minna would be doing everything in her power to ensure that I wouldn't pass the Striker test. God dammit. My sister being there didn't help. Holly was a star-student and incredibly competent in her work, and she got all the attention from the other witches while I stayed in my room moping and scrawling in this shitty diary.

Unfortunately, my mother quickly had received news of my...exploits. A few days after I had been "grounded", I got a rather scathing letter...

_Aston!_

_I heard about your bizarre incident in the Strike Witches earlier! How could you do something that utterly depraved, cross-dressing and sneaking in! When you joined the Britannian Armed Forces, I had assumed that you would finally grow up and do your father proud. But instead I learn that you're a debased, lecherous, and licentious degenerate! God, what will I _do_ with you!? I mean you have always been a lazy and honestly somewhat useless twit compared to your sister, but at least you did it while wearing pants!_

_-Love, Mom_

Feel the love.

Then I got another letter from Rolf. Rolf was another one of the few male witches, living in Karlsland. We were penpals-it was how us male witches stuck together and felt less alone. But Rolf was...interesting. He was a jolly good fellow (ow, that was too Britannian even for me), but I was pretty sure he was gay. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but I wasn't.

_Aston..._

_I heard of your dashing exploits through a connection in the military. Wow~ How impressive you must be! You must be so effeminate to not get caught during registration. I wish to see a picture of you, just once! We are both girlish and both dashing. No wonder we connect so well together!_

_But honestly, you may have gone too far trying to peep. One must not bite off more than one can chew! I heard that you tried to enter the bath but tripped and slid your panties off. In front of so many women, no less! But maybe you should give up in the pursuit of women. I am always here for you, my love~_

_-Love, Rolf Herrstein_

Trust me, Rolf. I'll never give up on women. I'm not that desperate...I think.

The next day, things got worse. I learned from Holly that news of my exploits, and my attempt to get into the Strike Witches as a male had gone around the block...the international block. So, basically, everyone from Fuso to Romanigna to Britannia to Suomus knew my face and that I was a crossdressing reprobate. God _dammit_. I was not doing the Princeton family proud. Not at all.

Holly thrust a newspaper from our homeland in my face. An article with my face plastered onto it (my mom had sold some of my old photos to a newspaper for quick money, a fact which depressed me more than it surprised me), telling all the sordid details, was all over the front page. I chucked it to the side, a feeling of dread washing over me like the slimy tendrils of some awful beast. I didn't even want to read it.

"Your loss. Minna's letting you eat in the main room now that you've shown good behavior."

My spirits rose at once. "S-Seriously!?" I asked her with sparkling eyes.

"Yup." She sighed and shrugged. Tiny little shit... "I don't know why she's allowing this, but come on, you sick bastard." She didn't dare look at me as I got off the bed, my spirits so high I lept into the hallway in front of her, prompting an eye-rolling look of pity. "Big brother, you are honestly just too _weird_.

/

In the main room, I tried to be as nice as possible and greet the 501st. They were all lined up at the table, waiting for the food on the nearby stove to finish. I couldn't tell what it was.

"Uh...yeah...I'm sorry...I guess? I mean, I'm probably irredeemable in your eyes but I feel I have to do this." I intentionally sounded as meek as possible in hopes that they would feel bad.

It...half-worked. Gertrud sighed and rolled her eyes. "Just get over here."

I nodded and sat down in the only free chair, next to Charlotte. I was stuffed next to boobs, which was kinda good, I guess. But I didn't want to push my luck in the slightest, so I just shrank down and tried to diminish my presence. Holly came next to me, and quickly scooted as far as she could, though her efforts were blocked by Sanya.

"You two look...similar." The meek gray-haired girl mentioned, so quiet that it was hard to hear her.

"Of course, we're twins." Holly haughtily replied. "And male witches...it's been theorized that they almost always form when a normally female baby is twisted by residual magic and ends up being born as a man. So most male witches are incredibly girly by default."

"I'm not ashamed of my looks, you know!" I quickly swung over to face her, but ended up falling back and bumping into Charlotte. She was kind of...squishy, in all honesty. "Oh shit, sorry mam!" I recoiled back, waving my hands wildly in apology, this time bumping into Holly, but she was a asshole anyway so fuck her.

Charlotte, however, didn't immediately try to hit me or demean me or anything, but instead just laughed and put her hand on my head to calm me down. It was...warm. And nice feeling. She was so much larger than me, I couldn't help but get lewd thoughts in my head. "Relax, it was just an accident. Look, you should be more focused on working hard so we can take you seriously." The feeling of having one of these girls speak to me normally and even optimistically...it felt nice. My whole body felt warmed up like a ray of sunshine was inside of it.

But not everyone was exactly happy. Slamming her fist on the table, Perrine angrily spat her. "Don't coddle this reprobate!" Could I not be the center of attention just _once_?! In all honesty, I had wanted to be surrounded by women before, but all this spotlight time was starting to drive me insane. Everyone was glancing at me and the feeling of their stares was like a weight crushing my brain to bits.

I had two options now. I could either leave, or pull off my secret technique...which really was just breaking down into tears and hoping that I was a cute enough little boy to get the girls are feeling bad and would start coddling me and stuff.

...Yeah, like that second one was every going to happen. I could use magic, but I couldn't work miracles.

I couldn't handle it anymore, my mind going crazy from all attention swirling around me, so I quickly got up and started to leave. "God, can you please stop obsessing over me!? I know I did some screwed-up stuff, but can we just work instead of getting into these fights?! If I'm causing this much trouble, then I'll leave! Maybe even leave the force for good!" Having said my words, I angrily stomped off out of the main room back to my quarters, not even turning to see everyone's faces. In my mind, I wondered if I had said the right stuff, or if I had gone too far. I really was starting to get sick of causing so much shit.

"Man, it's all my fault isn't it?" It really was. I had acted like a twat and gotten what I deserved.

Once in my room, I just threw myself into my bed without the slightest care for anything. I should not have feared the wrath of the girls I wanted to peep in on. I should have feared this job driving me to insanity.

I suddenly began to miss my room back in Britannia. It was tiny and honestly the sun would turn it into an oven any time it was out, but it was warm and comfortable. I had pictures of all my favorite Strike Witches plastered all over it. You know, despite being so damn pervy, I respected the Strike Witches. They got to fight the Neuroi and become heroes all around.

But shit, there was no way I could be a hero. I didn't even know if I could fly a Striker Unit. And I had been signed up to use the experimental jet strikers, because, apparently, I had the "aptitude" for it. As far as I could tell, the only country that had actually made them was Karlsland. Mine was supposed to be one of the first developed by someone else. using the Karlsland designs as the main base. From what I had read, my nation didn't even really trust them, so mine wasn't actually from Britannia. I was also supposed to receive some training by a witch called Helma Lennartz.

Helma Lennartz...she was one of my favorite witches, in all honesty. I liked how we looked similar, but her serious demeanor and her lovely blond hair was also a big factor. I should have been happier, but this was going to be strictly business. I couldn't act like a perverted jackass until _after_ training.

I got up, rather dejected, and went over to my small desk, picking up a pen and some stationery. I felt like sending a letter to her, just so she would have _some_ communication with me before training.

_Dear Helma..._

_This is Aston, the male witch you'll be training with soon. I know you're one of the main testers of jet strikers in Karlsland, so I'm glad to have you along. I actually consider you one of my favorite witches. I know that probably means nothing, given how half the civilized world knows me as a degenerate, but I wanted to say it. I think you're really cool._

I debated whether or not to tell her that I enjoyed cross-dressing in her uniform.

I decided not to and continued for a few paragraphs.

_...Anyway, I just wanted to send this letter so we had some communication before we met. I know it must be annoying to go all the way over here to Britannia, but we'll try to treat you well. Just don't eat the food here and you're good._

_If you want, I can take you around some areas near the base. I know them, kind of, my family used to visit relatives there sometimes._

_Sincerely, Aston Princeton_

I was probably pushing my luck a little too much with that last line. But I had to be a little forward sometimes.

At the end, I decided to draw her a little picture. I had always been halfway decent at drawing. It was an enjoyable pastime for someone like me, who rarely came outside or interacted with others. All I had was this crappy pen, but I managed to sketch out little picture of Helma in her jet striker, fighting off a Neuroi bomber. I made extra sure to get her features right, a rather difficult task as I couldn't erase any of my lines. Going slowly, I tried to ensure that every line was perfectly in position.

When I was finished, I decided to send it off. Of course, I couldn't go out of my room, so I had to knock on the door, silently praying that a witch was there.

Fortunately, I heard some footsteps soon after I knocked. "Aw, do you need something?" It was Erica Hartmann, in all her smug glory. She was always so non-serious, but loved treating me like I was three. Man, Gertrud was a psycho, Minna was a hardass who made me feel miserable for every slight instance of misconduct, and Erica always loved teasing me. Were Karlsland women all so damn mean? I started to get worried about Helma...

"Yes," I sighed at her mockery. "I want to send a letter to Helma-that witch who'll be training with me soon-so I need to go to the post office."

"Well, funny that you say that, because she's actually called the base right here by telephone. She's been wanting to speak to you...though she doesn't sound too happy." Seriously? What an odd coincidence...but I'm not sure I wanted to hear her angrily screaming at me. Nonetheless, not showing up would be bad, so I gingerly nodded and followed Erica down to the office, the only place that had a telephone.

Along the way, she struck up conversation with me. "So you're going to be training under Helma? Sucks to be you!" She energetically exclaimed, her tone at odds with her statement.

"H-how?" I could feel some sweat forming on my forehead. I really did not want MORE pain getting sent my way.

"You don't know much about her? Funny, your sister says she's your favorite witch. But don't think that she's a lovely goddess or anything." Erica swiveled her head and gave me a cute wink with her right eye. "She's_ nasty_. A complete and total pain the butt. She yells at everyone, even her superiors, but of course no one listens to a little girl like her. She's good, but she'll run you into the ground till you're bleeding from your eyes and begging her to stop."

I gulped, feeling a sense of panic thrash around in my chest. Things were not looking good for me, not at _all_.

Inside the main office, a rather luxurious yet muted room, Minna was sitting at her desk, the telephone in her hands. She nodded when we came in and directed me to a chair next to the desk. Erica then left quickly. Minna seemed to have been talking with Lennartz, but I couldn't understand any of it.

"_Ja, __beim Transvestismus macht er Spaß. Er sehe nach ein Mädchen aus. Ah, er ist jetzt hier, ich werde __ihn __di__e Rufsäule geben._ ["Ya, he enjoys cross-dressing. He looks exactly like a girl. Ah, he's here now, I'll give the telephone to him"]

[AN: Finally, my 4 years of German in high school have actually come in handy]

Minna handed me the phone. I stared at it for a few seconds, not wanting to pick it up. My foot was tapping on the floor rapidly in both fright and apprehension, and a lump was forming in my throat. Minna pushed it towards me again. "The quicker you answer, the quicker it's over."

I gulped. She was right. With my mind screaming no, I reached for the phone and grabbed the reciever. Slowly I put it to my ear, the metal warm from touching Minna's. "He...hello?"

The response was immediate. Helma immediately _blasted_ my ears wide open with a verbal onslaught. "VAT ZA HELL KIND OF PERSON ARE YOU!?" Her accent was thick, much thicker than Minna's, Erica's, or Gertrud's. My ears felt like they had been sliced open, but Helma didn't stop there. "I cannot believe zat I am teaching a person like you! The _Erprobungskommando_ is not ze kind of program to be taken lightly like zis!" Her words were coming so fast I could barely parse one sentence by the time she was done with the next. "Do you think you make male vitches look good, do you? From vat I've heard, you're more useless zan a pile of bricks! I'll be coming to give you your Striker Unit, but I don't zink zat you have the competence to use such a powerful machine. All zis power, and it is _vasted_ on you! Ashton Princeton, you better prepare yourself!" She ended the call with a slam of her phone down so hard the resulting "KACHUNK" nearly knocked me off of my seat.

It took several seconds before I could even begin to parse her hurricane of words. Minna took the reciever from my hand put it down. "So, how was she?" She said with a devious smile on her face.

I just sat, catatonic from the verbal beatdown, trying to comprehend what she had said. "She's...a psychopath..."

"You best get ready. She comes in three days." Minna then returned to the paperwork on her desk. "Out." She barked at me, not even looking up from her papers.

I slowly and stiffly lurched out of my chair and began walking back to my room. Erica was outside the door, a smile on her face. "So, you saw just she was, huh?"

"Yeah..." All of the insults she had thrown towards me mixed together with all of the insults I had gotten before. I felt them-Gertrud calling me a sicko, Perrine calling me a reprobate, Minna about to discharge me-all swirl around my chest, making my throat get thick and lumpy. That and the disgusted stares when I had been caught...and my mother's letter...it was too much. I tried to stop them, but tears began to form in my eyes, my throat feeling like it was completely blocked up. Before long I was sniffling, tears forming large streaks on my face. Erica's face turned from a smile to a frown. Before long, I felt her come closer, holding me tight, her body warm. "Oh come on, it's not _that_ bad, is it?"

I began to straight-up bawl into her chest. I didn't even care about looking pathetic. I just wanted to cry. Erica patted me on the back a few times. Her body was incredibly warm and soothing. Heh, I always knew how to initiate the maternal instinct.

And of course, she was wearing no pants. I felt like cheering myself up so I quickly snuck a small pat on her ass. It was honestly flat, but so well-formed, using its small assests to the maximum-

-A massive force all of a sudden collided into my gut like train has driven straight into it.

Erica slammed me in the gut so hard I doubled over in pain, my vision blurry from the impact _and_ the tears on my face. I looked up at her as I collapsed onto the ground, clutching my chest and breathing erratically. My entire body was radiating excruciating pain outwards so hard I wanted to cry _again_. But that cheeky asshole, had a smile on her face the whole time.

"You ought'a stop doing that, you know? I don't hit half has hard as some witches..."

"Hehe..." I gasped. Good thing I had a thing for getting punished. My breath was no longer erratic from being hit, it was from the lewd thoughts running through my head. "I enjoy this kind of thing you know-"

I got kicked in the face for that. It wasn't particularly enjoyable.

I never actually sent that letter, either.

/

Wow, I get these out a lot faster than _A Drunkard's Lost Sword _or _Subtle Differences_ chapters. I consider this fic to be my way of relaxing and letting my hair down after getting out the intense and long chapters of those other two fics. However, that doesn't mean I will let the quality on this slack! I'm putting the same amount of effort into this fic as my other two!


	3. Chapter 3: Das Ueben

For the record: if you're wondering why Helma sometimes gets her w's and th's right and sometimes doesn't, I'm trying to represent her learning English-she gets them right sometimes, but not always. I feel that's more interesting and believable than her messing up ALL the time.

Title means "The Practicing" in German by the way.

Chapter 3: _Das __Üben_

I met Helma Lennartz when almost no one else was at the base. A recent surprise Neuroi appearance in Orussia resulted in the 501st being pulled over there to assist. It would take about 2 days. Of course, since I didn't have a Striker and wasn't really a part of the 501 at all, I just stayed on-base. The only people besides me were Charlotte, Helma, Holly, and the various mechanics.

This meant that I was stuck enduring Helma's onslaught practically alone. It began as soon as she came down, at around noon, the sun broiling the airstrip. Probably to show off her skills, she flew the last few miles herself and came skidding down onto the massive airstrip, clearly built for actual planes, her face sullen and not looking the slightest pleased...though it was somewhat hard to take her seriously, given that she was smaller than me. On her back was a massive box, far, _far_ larger than her. Her magic power must've been quite impressive.

Her Striker Unit was rather unique too. Unlike nearly every single that I had seen, hers had no propellers of any kind. It was sleek, and long, the bottom colored gray that faded into a greenish-beige at the top. At the side of each individual unit, a small wing with a tube projected outwards. This is what marked it as a Jet Striker, or Etherjet. They had been recently made in Karlsland and could offer much higher speeds than normal propeller SU's. The only problem was that the tech was a little ripe, having been simply downscaled from actual jet fighters, themselves a new technology. In addition, the power requirements were so immense that it was difficult to actually _use_ one unless you had a ton of natural power. My family, the Princetons, did have such power...though it wasn't like I deserved it.

Words from my mother flashed in my head. _"Just because you've for all that power doesn't mean that you're a better Witch. Without controlling it you're just a wild and dangerous loose cannon."_ She had told Holly that a few years ago. I sighed. Holly was so much better at this than I was.

Helma quickly jumped from her SU, her beautiful blond hair lighting up in the sky and contrasting well with the deep black of her cat familiar's ears and tail. Barefoot but barely affected by the heat of the sun searing down on the strip, she walked over to me, inside the massive hanger, where it was cool and shaded. I could feel the rage just emanating from her body like some kind of roaring plane engine spitting out enough heat to distort the air. Instinctively I recoiled back, but I knew I couldn't escape.

When she went inside the hanger, now only a few feet from me, she sighed deeply and stared me straight in the eyes, her own feeling like needles piercing into my soul. "Ashton Princeton, yes?" Her accent was understandable, but _very_ thick. She clearly had been learning Britannian for only a few years. Minna, Gertrud, and Erica sounded almost like natives in comparison.

I nodded. "It's...Aston. As-ton." I decided to try helping her get my name right.

Her mouth twisted into a frown, but she was also blushing like I had hit a nerve. "I...I speak Britannian very vell, thank you very much!" She then pulled out a small file. "Anyvay, Ashton Princeton, I assume you know who I am."

"Yes, you're Helma Lennartz and three days ago you nearly made me go death by means of a telephone."

"Of course I did!" She snorted in indignant anger. "You are truly some-zing else! A perverted man, infiltrating us Strike Vitches. And you still get to use an Etherjet striker! Zis is practically a scandal!"

"It's...not my fault my family tends to have lots of power." I meepishly replied, twirling my blond hair in my fingers.

"Oh vell. Here." She threw the gigantic box at me. It was nearly as big as me and incredibly thick, made of almost impenetrable silver metal. It landed with a gigantic thud, threatening to crack the earth itself open, at my feet. I knelt down and flipped open a latch on it, heaving the heavy lid open with all of my strength. The sheer size of the thing was ridiculous.

Inside, laid two Jet Strikers, polished and carefully arranged inside metal moldings. They were slightly different in design than Helma's. Rather than placing the jets on two wings projecting out, the jets were located directly on the sides of the units, looking like circles welded to much larger circles. Then wings projected out of them. They were painted in a swirling pattern, kind of like, and I really have no other way to describe this, a toilet paper roll, alternating between thick bangs of a light blue, almost gray-ish, and a darker blue.

On a small piece of paper next to them, words had been written: "CONFIDENTIAL **GLO E.28 **[AN: Gloster E.28, the first working jet fighter the British made and the first Allied Jet in general, but it never went past testing] DOWNTUNED"

My Striker Unit. Mine and only mine. The realization hit like a brick. This was a several-hundred thousand pound device, designed exclusively for me. No one else would ever use it. I was now part of a tiny elite, but was I worthy of being a part of them? I didn't feel worthy. What should have been a feeling of great joy and pride was instead a feeling of having cheated the system, the guilt having finally caught up.

Helma must have noticed this. "Vat za hell are you moping about? You have your own Striker Unit now! Surely even someone like you should be happy now!"

"I know..." I got up and walked away from the E.28. "But I don't feel like I deserve it. Helma, you probably hate me, right?"

She examined me with her eyes a little bit and sighed. "You have been reading me wrong. I do not hate you. I merely zink zat you are simply incapable of understanding vat kind of life a Strike Vitch has. Ve are soldiers. You zink zis is some kind of game vere you can just peep on girls all day long, and satisfy your sick desires to vear women's clothing. I know you have potential. Your father was Jackson Princeton, vas he not?" 

I nodded. My father was a pilot in the years before the Neuroi had hit. He was mostly unknown outside of the military circles, but all those in the forces no matter what country they came from knew his name and his deeds. I had never paid much attention to them, though. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Your father vorked hard and vas impeccable. Zat might by why I am so angry at you. You squander ze skills your father surely passed on!"

I could only nod in shame, like a child in trouble who had to finally admit his wrongdoing. "Well, I never thought that it would matter...I guess, "

"It does now. Get your units out." She pointed to the box. I shrugged and decided that there was nothing else to do. She was right. Maybe I was making my family look like a bunch of idiots. In reality, I had zero interest in actually being in the sky when I joined the Strike Witches. I was only thinking about perving on girls. But now I had been dragged into it through my own carelessness...perhaps that was a good thing in disguise though.

Man, I was a fucking idiot.

/

The "Downtuned" mark inside the E.28's case apparently indicated that the engines only output roughly half their power. Helma explained that this was so I could learn the basics of flying before going full-speed.

"Why not just give me a normal propeller to learn the ropes then? It's about as slow as one when downtuned like this." I asked her as we pulled the heavy machinery out of the box. The individual jets were incredibly heavy, weighing probably 200 pounds each. Me and Helma were...not exactly the stronger people around, and thus we just had to drag them slowly out to the edges of the hanger, where small stations for laying SU's up were set, allowing a Witch to quickly jump into them in the time of a sudden deployment. It was _very_ slow and very drudging. Even in the cool hanger we were drenched in sweat by the time we were done.

"Oof...ze one problem mit these Etherjets...they are heavy compared to normal propeller ones for now..." Helma groaned when we finished, lying against the wall, her brow covered in glistening sweat. I couldn't help but notice how cute she looked. Then again, I was panting and breathing heavily too, the sweat on my head making my hair feel sticky and uncomfortable.

"How can I possibly fly with this thing on my legs?" I asked in bewilderment.

"Are you stupid?! Your magic power, _dummkopf_! It vill make ze weight seem like nothing. How did you not know zat!?" She stared at me, incredulous. "You might be a lost cause..."

"Augh, sorry, it's just...oh man, screw it, maybe I am."

The first thing she had me do was get into the unit itself just to test the fit. I had to take off my socks and shoes, all while hearing Helma comment on how my legs were more feminine than hers, until I was wearing nothing more than white panties and a beige combat shirt.

"My, my, it's is _zat_ small..." Helma commented out of nowhere when I finished. I looked around in confusion before realizing that she was commenting on my manhood. I couldn't see it, but I could _feel_ my face temperature rising by several degrees, my hands flying to my crotch in embarrassment. My pride, as small it was, shattered like my window once had during a childhood baseball-game-gone-awry.

I had to defend my manhood, my honor. Of course, Helma made it easy with her un-voluptous figure. "You goddamn prostitot! You don't have much to say when you lack in the chest area that much!" It worked; Helma immediately threw her hands to her chest in shame and blushed like she had been splashed with red paint, her cheeks so red they seemed like they would go up in flames. I smiled in victory, almost able to _smell_ the metaphorical smoke coming from her burning cheeks. Yeah, I wasn't _totally_ a complete and utter pushover.

"You sick lech! O-Of course you would take note of something like that!" She kicked me in the face with her bare foot, something I most certainly appreciated.

"Hah, hah!" I replied, my eyes like stars and my nose bleeding slightly. For better or for worse, I had entered full-on Pervert Mode. "Don't worry, Helma...I like girls petite!"

For that, I received a full-on kick to the nose, but Helma was so small that I barely moved from it. Still angry, she kicked me again in the chest with all of her might, except this time she was so mad that her familiar manifested, black cat ears and a tail popping out of her head and butt. This meant that when she hit me, I was slammed straight in the chest like a lorry had rammed into me. The air in my lungs rushed out and the impact sent me flying several feet. I spent a second flying weightlessly through the air before slamming down onto the ground with a painful thud, gasping for breath and skidding several more feet.

"That's vat you-Ashton! I...I didn't intend to hit you zat hard."

"It's...HAGH...fine..hack..." I replied, only able to stare at the unsympathetic metal ceiling.

After that little incident, we proceeded. I star above the E.28 and proceeded to slide in, gripping my chest slightly as the kick still had done a number. It was an easier process than I expected. My legs slid in without any difficulty, the inside feeling padded to ease comfort. My feet came to rest at the bottom and locked into place. The entire assembly reached up far past my knees, like all of the other SU's I had seen Witches wearing. They ended right below my hip. They didn't feel totally uncomfortable, with that padding on the inside, but they didn't seem to let my legs breathe much, and I could feel heat growing up inside of them.

Looking back on it, that should have been a pivotal moment in my life. No other man had worn a Striker Unit before. But like before, I didn't feel elated or prideful. I didn't really feel anything. I cursed myself for not treating the situation with the respect it ought to have. Then again, maybe treating things with a cool head was a good thing for a pilot.

"How do zey feel?" Helma asked.

"Um..." I tried to put it into words. "They're...tight. And kinda hot. But not totally awkward. I was expecting something much more utilitarian."

"Of course. Striker Units must be vorn for long periods of time, and are highly advanced tech. It is no doubt then, that they are designed to excel in all categories. Treat it vell. Perhaps you are not totally a lost cause." She reached down close to my head. Of course, my puerile mind instantly went in a perverted direction as she came close to my face and held my head in one of her hands. But my logical mind also told me "There's no way her opinion of you changed that quickly." Nonetheless, I felt my forehead arm up as she placed something metal in my ear. It was round and frigid. "Zere, it's a radio communicator for when we're in the air...what did you zink I vas going to do?" She asked me in confusion when she saw my red-hot forehead. "...Sicko."

I sighed in disappointment that she wasn't going to kiss me or speak into my ears with her lovely voice (I'd say the accent made it even _cuter_, dammit!). Then I parsed the rest of her statement. My blood quickly turned to ice. It was easy to ignore things when they weren't about to happen. Thus, the thought that I was going to be flying at well over 300MPH over the sea like this had never really bounced around in my mind. Until now. Sweat began to break out over my face, as if it hadn't already shown up enough. My eyes were twitching, their erratic motion reflected in my vision swimming. Even things close by were hard to make out. To add fuel to the fire, my stomach began to roar in upset, twisting into knots, a nauseous feeling roaring up. I covered my mouth in response, my hands shaking like a bridge about to break.

Helma noticed this and immediately gripped my shoulders. "Aston, vat is wrong!?" She felt my forehead and quickly gripped me and pulled me from the SU. Having not activated my familiar yet, I wasn't linked with it and thus slid out quickly. "You are getting nerves, yes?" 

I nodded, not wanting to say anything. My stomach felt like it was about to twist itself into knots, the nausea spreading through me like an awful plague, making even speaking a trying task. My hands stayed firm on my mouth.

"Of course. It happens to all new pilots. Happened even to me, would you believe it? On my first flight, I was all '_Ich kann nicht fliegen, ich werde sterben!'_ ["I cannot fly, I will die!"]_. _But it goes away if you do it. I'll let you rest for a few minutes, ja?"

I raised my hand to object. My stomach still felt terrible, my head was burning, my vision swimming, and my forehead drenched in sweat, but I still felt some deep urge inside me to continue. Maybe it was my father's genes finally coursing through. I _was_ the son of a pilot. "Helma Lennartz..." Lowering my hands, I forced myself to speak some words, now overcoming the nausea with sheer willpower. "This is not how you are from what I've heard. You run everyone into the dirt with your nagging and expect superhuman results from everyone. It's not like you to give someone some time to rest."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Zere's a difference between expecting top-notch results and making a sick and nervous person fly for ze first time." A wicked smile formed on her lips. "But Aston, if you zink zat I am growing soft, or that I am falling for you and treating you nice, zen you can abandon those hopes instantly. Rest assured, I am going to push you to your limits. In my eyes, you are my charge, but you also a sick pervert and a pathetic rookie. In Karlsland, zey expect superhuman results from every mission. I do not know vat you tea-drinking Brits expect from your soldiers, but under my watch, you VILL do Karlsland-tier results or you VILL feel my wrath. You are very unlucky, ja? Since I am ze first and currently-only Jet Striker Witch in ze world, you are training under me instead of a fellow Britannian."

I sighed, the nausea finally leaving my body and my vision starting to straighten. "I'm gonna be miserable under you, aren't I?"

"Yes." She smiled. "Get ready for hell, boy. You know, you almost feel like you are starting to gain some actual manliness. If you are crazy enough to try courting me, you'll need to be more than just impressive."

/

I quickly entered the E.28 again. This time, I breathed in and out slowly to control my emotions and heartbeart. "I...I think we can continue."

"Alright...vat is your familiar, for ze matter? I don't know."

"It's...the gray wolf." A rather aggressive familiar for me, but us Witches usually didn't pick our familiars. They simply came to us.

"Hasn't it been extinct in Britannia for ze past 400 years?"

"Yeah, but mine's one of the Liberian ones..."

"...Very well. I hope zat you at least know how to summon your familiar."

"Of course!" I scoffed at her doubts and set to work at it. Summoning one's familiar was not a particularly difficult task-it was one of the first any witch learned to do that was magic-related. Mostly you just thought of your familiar, focused your power, and let it rip. I did as such, letting the magic course through me, my eyes closed in concentration. Soon two small gray and fluffy ears sprouted on top of my head. Unlike Helma's very smooth and small cat ears, my ears were very lupine, gray and filled with white fluff. While I was concentrating, I all of a sudden felt Helma playing with my ears, sending a ticklish sensation rippling over my body. I tried to remain focused, but eventually I gave in as she felt and tickled the ears, losing my connection to the gray wolf and sending the ears back in. In anger I swung around and barked at her. "Hey, what the hell was that for?"

She was blushing but also giggling a little. "I'm sorry...zey were just so cute and fluffy..."

"Man, you may be a hardass but you're still a kid in the end." Then again, I didn't have much to say. I was a kid too.

Having gotten through that little incident, I reconnected to the gray wolf. After the ears came the tail, long and bushy like a real wolf's. As soon as it came out, it instantly became an extension of me, and I found it easy to manipulate it like it another limb. I quickly curled it to the front and held it in my hands, because I sure wasn't letting Helma feel _it_ up.

With the process complete, I had fully connected to my latent magical power. It was a subtle feeling-even a strong Witch like me didn't feel much-but deep down, you could feel the power coursing through your veins like some kind of drug. Inside my body it was swirling around, just waiting to be exploited for _something_.

Now that I was done, I turned to Helma. "Done, are you? Your Striker should automatically sense your power and begin to power on."

She was right. In a few seconds we heard the E.28's engines turning on, their blades whirring to life at first slowly, but quickly increasing before they stopped abruptly. Did they break already?! Before I could panic though, Helma knocked me in the head a little. "Relax, it vas just testing itself before turning on. Now you should be able to adjust the power level as much as you want."

/

Now fully connected to the E.28, it was much lighter than before. I found myself able to move my legs with a surprising lack of effort. Helma led me outside, her Messerschmitt on her legs as well. Walking in a Striker Unit was basically impossible, so we just used this to practice slowly moving in the air. For someone who had never used them, SU's were...odd to use. You didn't have any kind of controls, you merely just thought of what you wanted to do and you did it. Once outside, Helma immediately ascended above the airstrip and beckoned for me to continue with the communicator.

I was hesitant but then she yelled "GO ALREADY!" in my ear so loud I flew up just to not have my ears destroyed. There was very little wind, so I ascended with almost no problems. Up above the air was slightly chilly, but Helma said that I was simply gonna have to deal with it. In any case, I had ascended and _not_ managed to kill myself. That alone made me swell with pride and confidence.

Then I looked down. We were barely in the sky, but even so, looking down and realizing that I was floating in the air took a number on me. The airstrip, once an impossibly gigantic slab of asphalt, now was a little strip of gray paper pasted onto the canvas that was the earth. _Then _I looked around us. The amount of land we could see was _huge_. The rolling verdant hills of Britannia seemed to stretch for miles and miles, barely any roads, even dirt ones, breaking them up. I saw forests and rivers and farm plots and so many hills, stretching like a beautiful painting. On the other side laid the Atlantic Ocean, an endless plane of rolling and soothing blue, the sun lying high in the sky above. It was a beautiful shot, like something from the brush of an artist, but the sheer sensory overload fried my senses. My stomach began to twist into tortuous knots again, and I quickly flew close to Helma and held onto her close like she was my mother. She hastily threw me off for that.

"Look, you vill have to get used to flying alone! It's not so bad once you get used to it."

"But..." I decided to throw all my manliness aside. "I'm...scared..." The words were barely audible.

"Don't be! Now we must fly over the countryside." She leaned forwards to prep herself, her Messerschmitt roaring much louder than mine. "You won't be able to catch me, but at least follow!" Then she burst off, with such intense speed I though the shockwave would rip me to shreds. The blast of air alone slammed into me like a wall, nearly knocking the wind out of me. I saw her blasting away from me, getting smaller and smaller.

Then it occurred to me that I was supposed to be flying after her. A sense of panic came over my head and I quickly tried to follow her path, but I leaned in too far, shooting _down_ diagonally towards the cliffs of the base. Even detuned, the sheer speed of my Striker was overwhelming-the wind lashed at my face, howling in my ears, and my vision was blurred from the speeds I was achieving. I quickly realized my mistake and pulled upwards, dodging the cliffs, thankfully, scanning the sky as I searched for Helma's trail. I saw it, a thin white line flowing through the air, and tried to follow.

_"Vat happened!? Where are you!?"_ She buzzed in my ear.

"Uh, sorry!" I replied as I went full-blast, ascending to reach her height. "I freaked out and nearly hit the cliffs!"

We spent the next hour flying around the base. I was, to put it lightly, terrible. Helma, even at nearly mach 1, was effortlessly carving beautiful lines into the sky, sometimes so bored letting me follow her that she would tell me to wait while she did some impressive maneuver like fly close to the hills. I, on the other hand, spent half the time catching my breath, flinching from the onslaught of the air, or accidentally hurtling myself towards the ground. I was only going half-speed, and yet it felt like I was completely out of control. The velocity turned the ground into a blur, the wind howling into my ears, the sensory overload sending me into a dive at times.

By the end, when we landed on the airstrip, I was pale as a sheet and covered in sweat. The previous hour felt like it had taken more than a day. I tried to think back and think about it, but it was all rushed, jumbled together, like my brain itself had barely been able to keep up. My eyes ached and twitched, my stomach was a complete mess, my ears still rang with the screams of the wind, and my skin all over felt raw from the air rushing over it.

"So?" Helma replied, jumping out of her Striker Unit. "Zat vas just a warm-up-eh?" She looked back at me, getting her first good look at me since we started flying. I was a wreck. Both inside and outside. When we got into the hanger and left our Strikers, I couldn't handle it anymore.

That had been terrible. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a Strike Witch, even with a pilot father. I could feel tears forming in my blood-shot eyes, heavily appreciative of the soothing dampness. "That...was awful. You're just so much better than me and we're the same age...sniff."

"Vell, it's merely zat I entered the military at an even younger age...Ashton, ze first time is always bad."

"I don't know, then that was _extra-_bad I guess..." A few of the tears fell onto the searing asphalt. "Dammit...I can't do fucking anything right...no wonder all the other Witches treat me like shit!" I slammed my fist into the wall, ignoring the searing pain that resulted. "I'm a goddamn pervert idiot, and I can't even do basic stuff correctly. I'm dead weight!" Now I slammed my _head_ into the wall, once again ignoring the horrible pain that bursted through it, tears falling from my eyes like a waterfall. I was just some goddamn city-boy. I had no skills when it came to being a witch. I couldn't fire a gun and I certainly couldn't fly a Striker Unit. "Maybe I should just quit. Go back home, go to college, and live my life peacefully."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Helma shake her head. "I've never seen a rookie get this emotional over her...their first flight."

Maybe I was a super-emotional jackass. But I felt like I had way more pressure on me to perform well. I was possibly the first male Strike Witch and my dad was a semi-famous pilot for real airplanes. "I'm just a crazy overly-emotional drama queen, that's it." The tears stopped flowing. "Man, I'm going to my room."

I left Helma there, honestly somewhat embarrassed about freaking out like that. I really did have a tendency to just break down and cry at the slightest shit. My little sister was made of sterner stuff than me. I walked through the halls of the base alone, as Charlotte and Holly appeared to be in their rooms. Once I reached my own, I half-heartedly threw open the door, closed the blinds, and strolled over to the bed, collapsing into it.

Unfortunately I couldn't mope because Helma came to my room with a bunch of luggage in her hands. "What do you want?" I gruffly replied as she came in like she owned the place.

"Mein Gott, you are ze most emotionally fragile person I have ever met! Your first flight was awful, so vat! Mine vas! Erica's vas! Everyone's is! Do you expect to be an ace on your first flight!? If you do, zen perhaps you really should resign!" Her words hit me really hard, and I rolled over on the bed so I didn't have to look at her. "And if you really must know, I vill be living in this room for now!"

I nearly jumped into the ceiling from surprise. "WHAT!?" My heart began to race incredibly fast. Helma _was_ my favorite witch, after all, and now I could be bunking with her? Perhaps this day hasn't been completely terrible after all. "YES!" 

She scowled at my enthusiasm. "You are not going to do any lecherous vile I am here, are you?" 

"Perhaps..." I replied, my voice steamy and...well, lecherous. I was drooling slightly and didn't even care to hide it. "I'll have you know...you're my favorite witch."

"I'm so honored." She replied in a deadpan tone, setting her stuff down. "If you like me that much, at least treat me decently."

"I will, I promise!" I pumped a fist into the air and jumped onto my bed, my spirits higher. Now that I was with my favorite witch, I was feeling much better. "But can I ask you something?"

"Vat?" She replied, taking her socks off sensually. At least for me.

"I...don't feel the greatest right now..." What I really wanted was a hug. Pathetic, I know. But I rarely had female contact and my high spirits were still being weighed down from the earlier failure at flying. "Can...I..." I started to blush tremendously and held my head down low. "...get a hug?"

She said nothing for a few seconds before laughing riotously in that stiff Karlsland way. "HAHAHAHA! You really are a pathetic little boy, aren't you?" She giggled at my pitiful request, making me instantly feel ashamed at ever having asked.

"I...shouldn't have asked, I guess."

"No, it is fine." Helma continued to giggle as she strolled over to my bed and proceeded to squeeze me tight. I felt the warm warmth of her body on mine, so close due to her small bust, our similar heights resulting in our faces being right in front of each other. We could've kissed right then and there, but of course our relationship was nowhere near that level. Nonetheless, I was able to stare in her mesmerizing blue eyes, eyes blue much like the ocean I had seen earlier. I wanted to fall into them. I wanted to look into them forever.

She was also unintentionally grinding against my crotch, which had the usual effects.

But Helma didn't notice and began to speak, her body still tightly wrapped around mine. "Ashton Princeton. You are a pervert, idiot, rather pathetic little boy, and a complete rookie at flying. I should hate you, for making me come all ze way over here to teach a loser like you. And I kind of still do. But vile you may be all of zose things, you are also cute as a button. You should remember zat. And maybe, if you really vant it, you could become a good Strike Vitch."

Then she punched me in the head so I nearly fell unconscious right then and there.

"And stop getting an erection everytime a girl comes vithin three feet of you, how much of a sexless pervert are you!?"

"I can't control my natural male instincts! Don't rub your crotch against mine!"

/

Why is my longest chapter for any story in about a year THIS? Seriously, what the fuck.


End file.
